


No one fucks with us

by Laura_Sinele



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Trainee Draco Malfoy, Auror Trainee Harry Potter, Auror Training, BAMF Draco Malfoy, BAMF Harry Potter, Bullied Draco Malfoy, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, H/D Wireless 2020, Harry Potter is So Done, M/M, Mild Language, POV Alternating, POV First Person, Protective Harry Potter, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Song: NFWMB (Hozier), Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:54:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24785731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura_Sinele/pseuds/Laura_Sinele
Summary: Draco Malfoy wonders for how long has Harry Potter been a terrifying force of nature. Harry Potter thinks Draco Malfoy has been a badass MF all along. If the world has to end so they can have some peace and quiet, be it. They'll set it on fire.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 42
Kudos: 203
Collections: HD Wireless 2020





	No one fucks with us

**Author's Note:**

> The Choir sings fragments of the song NFWMB, by Hozier. I do not own this song nor I intend to profit from its use in my work.
> 
> This song called for an apocalyptic scene where Harry and Draco could rule the world but they are out of fucks to give. Maybe this is where the story goes after this fic. 
> 
> A was my A and B and C (for cheerleader), even though he's not much of a Drarry shipper. Thank you for letting me put you through this.

ACT I

SCENE I

CHOIR

When I first saw you

The End was soon

To Bethlehem it slouched and then

Must have caught a good look at you

DRACO

I had spent weeks addled and numb when the time came to face the Wizengamot for my crimes of war. For all my nightmares and terrors, nothing had prepared me for the sense of vertigo that overcame me. I didn’t want to care and I did not care about Father or myself, but I was anxious about Mother’s fate. In my opinion ‒that nobody would ever care about anymore‒, she deserved as many honours as my unexpected hero of a godfather, Severus Snape.

I was allowed to sit in the audience while Mother spoke for herself, wishing I would be as collected and poised as she was when my trial came right after hers. Then the vertigo came to a halt and I felt the weightless force of the fall in my gut when Harry James Potter stood before the judges as a witness.

His tale matched Mother’s, and I found myself surprised at that, not sure if I had expected Mother or Potter to lie. All the while he was talking, a subtle hum took hold of the dungeon and grew stronger and stronger. I could easily tell I wasn’t the only one noticing. It made me feel sort of anxious, yet comforted, as if I was about to watch the world burn and I knew it was for all the right reasons. But the ministers and clerks, the audience gathered there, most of them were uncomfortable, as if they knew a storm was brewing and they were afraid to get stranded or drown in it. For a moment I thought I was delusional, because I felt both extremely excited as terribly scared. I wondered if the numbness had finally blossomed into sheer, unbridled madness. But as fearsome as Potter appeared boldly confronting the old guard, I could not look away. I hung onto Potter’s every word. And I revelled in the faces of distress around me. 

Nothing caught fire despite the spark in Potter’s eyes and all the kindling in his words. Mrs. Malfoy nee Black ‒and soon to take back her maiden name‒ was pardoned. The Malfoy state and possessions were taken from Father as a result of finding him guilty, leaving Mother and me ‒in the event of being cleared of all charges‒ with our share of the Black fortune distributed in a scarce yearly pay as our sole income. 

And then suddenly, I was swept off my seat and brought to the infamous chair in the middle of the theatre. All the exhilaration built up during Potter’s testimony and shaming of the Ministry’s behaviour abandoned me, and I faced the judges drowning in guilt, regret and fear. Where Mother had been dignified yet vocal, I answered their questions with a nod or a shake of my head whenever I thought I could get away with not uttering a word. As far as I could see there was only one immense and impenetrable wall of patronising faces, eyebrows risen in incredulity, and openly disgusted sneers. That was until Potter took the floor again. Then, the blazing sun of righteousness that had peeked amongst the clouds of Mother’s trial came back with the force of a canicule. 

Potter told them about the cursed necklace and the cabinet, but he insisted on the role of Father through it all. He told them Severus had left him memories of me torn between the unconditional loyalty to the family instilled in me during my upbringing, and the sheer terror the Dark Lord inspired. He talked about Ginny Weasley’s and his own experience of having Voldemort prodding in their minds, and told the whole room that living under the same roof with that maniac and still manage to not do what he asked from me required a willpower and strength that nobody in that room, not even Mother, not even Potter himself, could have ever shown. He said that and I kept looking around, in search of someone casting an Imperius over him. 

There was murmuring after that. Nobody had liked Potter’s jabs before, but somehow this exaltation of me, the coveted Death Eater cub, sat worse amongst them. When the room quietened, Potter told them that I had lied to Voldemort’s face in the Malfoy Manor to save his life, like Mother would do shortly after in the Forbidden Forest. While that revelation had earned an unanimous, admired gasp during Mother’s trial, this one merely rose a few heads, mine included. I wasn’t expecting Potter to know I recognized him when I said I didn’t.

“What? Not impressed?”, retorted Potter, and I thought he was suicidal. “Does he look that much like his father that he has to pay for it?”.

The murmuring resumed, more agitated now, and I wondered why he was so adamant in my defence. I debated between gratitude towards Mother, and simply a persistence in his usual holier-than-thou, Saviour of the Wizarding World attitude. I might have been grateful if I hadn’t been shocked by Potter’s recklessness, although I reckoned being the Boy Who Lived granted the right to insult and reprimand as many holy cows as one pleased. Whatever the reason behind his acts, Potter’s presence was a terrifying beacon. The more I looked at him, the more I witnessed his just fury, the more convinced I was the end of times was upon us, and the less able to tear my eyes apart from that formidable cataclysm incarnate that was Harry James Potter, unleashed between me and a vengeful flock of blood-thirsty jurors.

It was in that very moment, I believe, that I fell in love with him.

  
  


SCENE II

CHOIR

Give your heart and soul

To charity

‘Cause the rest of you, the best of you

Honey, belongs to me

HARRY

There was something about Malfoy that wasn't right. There had been something that wasn't right about him since the days before I almost killed him in Myrtle's toilets. A Malfoy that wasn't boasting about something or didn't look like he had just smelled shit was something weird. It was kinda unnatural. He had always looked like he thought he was above us all by birthright or something. Now he looked like crap. I mean, of course you would look like crap if you and your whole family and family friends had joined a murderous psycho and tried to take over the world and lost. But it wasn't that. I thought, in the toilets, that he looked like that because he hadn't signed in for that. Like, being wizarding royalty wasn't that fun any more. That was before he pointed his wand at me and I, like a bloody arse, shot him a curse I had no idea about. 

Then there was so much stuff to think about, so many things happening at once. I just had no time to worry about him and, honestly, I don't think I cared back then. 

But then, at the Manor, he lied to save me. I knew he knew it was me. A bloated face didn't hide much, and for a split second he made that face of realisation, the one I saw in the mirror of the toilet when he saw me. He knew it was me, I'm sure. And he was scared to death, and even so he said it wasn't me. To his father and to Voldemort he said that wasn't me, and he saved our lives. And he could have died for it. 

I was only sure about it after his trial, when I gave him back his wand. He was a ghost of himself but he tried to look dignified when I called him. All serious and polite and, you know, phlegmatic. Like noble people do. His world had gone to shit but he was still standing. I was only sure about it after I saw him then, but if I think about it, that moment in the Manor, that big fat lie that could have cost him his life and he said without even blinking, that was the moment I fell for him. 

They could take away his money and his name and his pureblood pride. I'd be happy just keeping the rest. It'd be enough for me. Actually, to me, it was the best of him.

  
  


INTERLUDE

CHOIR

Ain't it a gentle sound, the rolling in the graves?

Ain't it like thunder under earth, the sound it makes?

Ain't it exciting you, the rumble where you lay?

Ain't you my baby, ain't you my baby?

LULLABY OF THE DEAD

There was quite an uproar at the other side of the veil when it was known. Some voices approved, most opposed, a few kept for themselves. Who said what doesn’t really matter, since we are all dead. What was about to happen, actually, should rise no voices at all, since we are all dead. 

They had names, the two boys, and the men and women who decided to put them there, but it doesn’t really matter. 

One was widely regarded as a saviour, the other had been pronounced not guilty of what he had, indeed, done. They both wanted to leave everything that made them who they were behind. They both wanted to stop being a hero and a villain, and be just two boys who one day, desirably, would become two men. But to some people, what they wanted didn’t really matter. 

So they were put on a stage and an audience was called, the wireless, newspapers, the whole mess that comes with public affairs. But it wasn’t a public affair for them. It was a career choice that each boy had taken privately and, against all odds, one that had brought them together at the top of that stage, before a cheering mass of admirers and a wooing crowd of detractors. It was nothing more, and nothing less, than the next step in their lives, so it shouldn’t matter. It didn’t really matter. 

Atop the stage someone read a speech and congratulated themselves for having such extraordinary wizards joining the forces of the order of wizarding Britain. One boy was stiff, uncomfortable and barely concealing his disagreement with such display. The other was stoic and impenetrable, but if one looked closely, a hint of sorrow and weariness could be noticed. The first boy certainly noticed. He felt the urge to do something about it, but he refrained. After all, he thought, what he wanted didn’t really matter. 

Then they were instructed to shake hands. It was symbolic, the self-important men and women said. It was silly, one of them thought. Preposterous was the word the other chose. But they did as they were told because, at this point, as long as they were allowed to go on with their lives, it didn’t really matter. 

And the audience broke into a clamour that soon turned into commotion. There was shouting of names and hurling of things. The hero was called a traitor, the villain, a murderer. The aurors were outnumbered and the politicians left the stage, but the two boys remained still, hand in hand, eyes locked. Under the downpour of jinxes and curses, the good boy lost control of his magic and it exploded in a fire wave. Nobody noticed, though. Nobody was hurt either. Nobody even knew for sure what had stopped the ruckus, and looked at the stage in confusion. Because wordlessly, wandlessly, the bad boy had cast a protective spell on them with such force that it undid the foul magic leak. Some reasoned later that it had been the other way around. That the villain almost murdered them en masse and the hero, once again, stopped him. The villain didn’t care. He didn’t mind at all, because the hero knew what happened. And beyond the look of awe in his face, the tightening of his hand around the villain’s, the hint of a delighted smile in his lips, if the whole world hated him or if the whole world was coming to an end, it didn’t really matter.

After that, ahead they went, making a living of protecting people and a habit of avoiding them, and dancing around each other on top of our graves. 

  
  


ACT II

SCENE I

CHOIR

If I was born as a blackthorn tree

I'd wanna be felled by you

Held by you

Fuel the pyre of your enemies

DRACO

Once the shock subsided, I had to simply accept the facts: that Potter was determined to defend me from the hate I had garnered, and that he would apparently always put himself between me and any threat. It felt wrong for a myriad of reasons, but nobody seemed to be able to change his mind. Certainly not the pack of goons that were the other auror trainees, but not even his most trusted friends either. Why would I succeed in telling him to stop jeopardising his reputation and even his life? Consequently, I limited our interactions to greetings at the beginning of the shift, farewells at the end, and nods of acknowledgement after the inevitable daily incident in which he preserved my integrity in a more or less blatant way. 

It’s not that I did not hold my own. Potter wasn’t always around after all. He simply didn’t allow anything to cross the line from passive aggressive threats oozing bravado to an actual locker room brawl. But I still had to perfect protection spells and notice-me-nots. I would be caught dead before casting as much as a playground jinx on any of my co-trainees. I was absolutely certain it would backfire, just like what happened with the shield I casted the day of the ceremony, when Potter lost his wit and almost set all of us ablaze. 

And yet Potter wasn’t that much popular, either. Adding to his puzzling commitment to preserve my integrity, there was his reclusiveness and general distrust of anyone he hadn’t met before the war on his side. Higher-ups were not hiding their frustration on not having their long-awaited poster boy and our peers tried to best him time after time, convinced that he was just a lucky bastard with a signature spell. No matter how many times they were proved wrong, their narrow-mindness, reinforced by Potter’s antisocial behaviour and his tendency to defend me, compelled them to try again. Still, he stood out and, where he used to inspire reverence, now it was almost universally terror. That terror didn’t escape me. But since the day of my trial, it had come hand in hand with my absolute inability to look away from his terrible defiance, his invincible stance. He was terrifying. And if I could in any way make him look even more fearsome, I would. And if he would take me, I’d be his. All I wished in return was that he was mine to behold in his fantastic despise of a world in flames. 

SCENE II

CHORUS

Ain't it warming you, the world gone up in flames?

Ain't it the life you, your lighting of the blaze?

Ain't it a waste they'd watch the throwing of the shade?

Ain't you my baby, ain't you my babe?

HARRY

It pissed me off royally. It had all been for nothing. There were still some wizards that thought themselves better than the others, and muggles were still stupid little children to trick or protect, depending on the day of the week and the general mood. I didn't die for this. I wouldn’t have died for them. Now Draco Malfoy, he was another thing entirely. 

Each and every bloody day I had to stop a prank or five against him at training. And I mean I had. I couldn’t stop myself and lay low and let him manage his business. I knew for a fact he could manage on his own. It just made my blood boil to see them picking on him just because of his name. I had grown tired of people having to go through shite because of things they didn’t choose. I didn’t die for this. 

And fuck, he was gorgeous. He was never scared, never bothered by the names and the “accidental” shoves or misfired spells. He had asked once for forgiveness, publicly, and he never did again. He wasn’t begging. He was just trying to go on. 

And then there was that fucking turd of an entitled pureblood-but-of-the-good-kind, that had sucked Ron and Seamus into his bullshit of a game. Sometimes I wished Hermione had joined the aurors if only to scare the living shit out of them and make them behave.

I walked in the locker late after combat practice because Kingsley wanted a word with me. He said the Ministry wanted me to smile more for the pictures, I said the Ministry could go fuck themselves, he agreed and we parted ways. I was undoing my boots laces when I heard mumbling and giggling. I wasn’t in the mood for a scene after spending all three hours of training covering Malfoy from friend fire. So I just yelled “Hey, Ron? Seamus? Wanna go for a pint later?” and hoped they got the message and stop being grown-up bullies. Instead, I heard hurried whispers and a distinct, posh “Don’t care, we are doing it”. That’s when I ran.

I went around the line of lockers and into the shower stalls. There were five of them, wearing towels and lurking around the shower Malfoy was using, wands in hand. Malfoy had noticed them and gave them a disdainful glance over his shoulder while he kept showering. “Oh, hi Potter”, he said. “Want to join my fan club?”.

They all turned to look at me as I asked what the fuck was going on. “Nothing much”, said Entitled Turd. “Your mate Ron here told us how this Death Eater petrified you, broke your nose and left you to drown in your own blood. We thought it was time for him to get a friendly reminder on how wrong that was”.

“Cut it!” I hadn’t meant to shout. The tiles trembled, some closer to me cracked. Ron and Seamus at least had the decency to look ashamed and start to leave but Entitled Turd had other plans. He raised his wand and said “Your wish is my command, Chosen One.” Before he started moving his lips I recognised the movement of his hand. I felt my skin come alive and a nest of fiery snakes surge forward and reach him by the time he had pronounced “Sectum-” Then there was a shockwave. My fire was out and so were the five bullies, lying on the ground. Ron was even snoring and I found that endearing, what is even wrong with me. And Malfoy was facing me, arms slowly going down, head tilted and a worried look on his face. He had stopped a burst of involuntary magic wordlessly and wandlessly, saving the lives of people who hated him, again. Which was already hot in itself. Only this time he was naked and water was pouring on him. 

ACT III

FINALE SCENE

CHORUS

Nothing fucks with my baby

Nothing can get a look in on my baby

Nothing fucks with my baby

Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing

DRACO

For a beat, there was only the sound of the shower raining on me. Then his steps, strolling towards me. A moment before he had been the very embodiment of fury, now he looked undone, in his training clothes, covered in dirt and sweat. And so utterly beautiful. He crashed against me, pushed me against the cold, wet wall with his arm in between, and claimed my lips hungrily, not knowing they were already his. Then my cheeks, my jawline, my neck. Over his shoulder I could see the unconscious bodies of our peers. There were also the scorched marks on the floor, walls and ceiling. Those were a testament to our unexpected, improbable, absolutely unadvisable, and inconmensurable love. I grabbed a handful of his hair to make him look up. He smiled mischievously. I claimed his lips, knowing they were already mine. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> 🎵 This work is part of H/D Wireless, a song inspired, anon, Drarry fest with its home on tumblr! 
> 
> If you enjoyed this, shower our content creators with all the love you have to give by leaving kudos ❤️ and comments 💌 on their work!
> 
> [Check out the fest tumblr to find even more works and daily updates!](http://hd-wireless.tumblr.com/)


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